


And So To Bed

by Kestrel337



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Ficlet, Fluff, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/pseuds/Kestrel337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the best part of a case keeping him late into the night was coming home and crawling into bed with his partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So To Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little piece written for Silver Fox Saturday on Tumblr. Minor polishing before posting here. 
> 
> I own nobody, and nothing, and don't mean any disrespect to anyone or anything.

Sometimes, the best part of a case keeping him late into the night was coming home and crawling into bed with his partners. It didn’t happen every time; Sherlock still didn’t keep anything like a regular sleep schedule. But when it did, when he came home to find everyone snug and sleeping, it was a comfortable thing. No need to hash over the day or even say “I can’t talk about it right now”. The quiet would brush against his skin, the light over the stove a gentle welcome. There was always that light left on, always a plate in the fridge with some fruit, some cheese, a handful of nuts. 

And in the bedroom, peace. Of course he’d seen romantic images of people sharing a bed. Fluffy blankets, pristine pillows, faces soft and bodies curled cozily together. He wondered if such scenes ever occurred outside of art and imagination; he’d certainly never witnessed such a thing. Tonight was no different. The bed looked as if there had been a minor war; John had lost, to judge by position and portion. His face was soft in sleep, that much was true, but also flushed, and creased, and a bit drooly where it rested on his forearm. John was clinging tenaciously to the last few inches of mattress, right leg drawn up to pin down the top sheet trailing over his back. One pillow had fallen to the floor, the other was mashed against the back of his tousled head by Sherlock’s outflung hand. 

The consulting detective lost all his grace and containment when he slept deeply; he sprawled across the mattress on his stomach, one sock sagging down over his heel and the other lost somewhere in the tangle of blanket and long, pale legs. The sable curls stuck up in all directions, fanned out across the pillow that he had beaten into shape with, apparently, his own face. The flannel-soft sleep shirt was rucked up around his ribcage, his pyjama pants riding low on his hips, and he was mumbling indistinctly as he so frequently did. Even while the body slept, that restless brain rumbled on. 

Greg changed quietly, then began nudging and poking at Sherlock. Before he could crawl into the space he’d created, John snuffled and rolled into his more typical position in the middle of the bed. Greg pulled up the duvet and slipped into the warm nest John had left. He wrapped himself around the shorter man, one hand reaching over him to stroke through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock stilled beneath his touch, stopped muttering and gusted out a deep sigh. His head sank more heavily still against the pillow. John stirred slightly, mumbled ‘’ove you, Geg’ and pursed his lips in an unfinished kiss. Greg shushed him, pressed a kiss to the blonde temple, and let his muscles relax in the familiar warmth. Yes, he thought, as sleep carried him away. This was the best sort of homecoming.


End file.
